unhurriedly You walk

not to face the soil

blowing its top

seem a sleep-walker

who lost his sleep

a hairnet abandoned in the sea

nothing but a prophet

stuck in his snowy hermitage

yet you twinkle like an anvil

scrape the wind of your own steps

in small cups of coffee, perhaps

you found the drool of your annoyance

I crumble in stolen time

in my marzipan quicksand

I do decide how to drift

Is it any clear

my lovely mind?

Those dripping flowers are secret agents

gigantic forces praying for our love

to sink its teeth into the aruroal bliss

of our mutual complicity

joy galore

in the sartorial taste of wind

trees are dialoguing with spring

my eyes are rowing fast just to see

if your favorite season of all is still me

You were an oneirocritic

vigilating my oracular sentences

were an onomasticon for love premises

orgiastic scenes for action movies

You paladin of injustice

firewalking towards me

used to fit so marvelously

into the paradigm of my hysteria

while I was dancing on the table

shouting that the moon was nothing but my skirt

But It's true, believe me:

I'm combing my undulating life

to be my charming penumbra

decked with a plethora of hopes

chop,chop, I’m hopping on

 By Aldo Quagliotti

From: United Kingdom

Website: https://quaquaversalweb.wordpress.com/

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